


The Blood of Stars

by reinhart



Category: The Folk of the Air - Holly Black
Genre: Canon Compliant, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, I Don't Even Know, I Tried, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I'm Bad At Summaries, Post-Book 3: The Queen of Nothing, Post-Canon, This Is STUPID, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-22
Updated: 2021-03-22
Packaged: 2021-03-25 10:47:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30087918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reinhart/pseuds/reinhart
Summary: For the High Queen of Elfhame, and only her, the stars will bleed themselves until she is satisfied.
Relationships: Jude Duarte/Cardan Greenbriar
Comments: 9
Kudos: 37





	The Blood of Stars

_Does it painfully wound you to tell me the truth, my darling? I beg of you, please, to allow me a small sliver of your heart, for I have given you the entirety of mine._

* * *

**THE STARS ARE** bleeding.

It was a faint crimson, a tint of rose that turned the inky blues of twilight into a thousand shades of spring dusk and winter roses. Cardan had first noticed the crimson streaks of the sky on the sun-kissed skin of his wife as she curled herself into his arms. She was draped in a silk nightgown, embroidered in curving patterns of honey blossoms and frost flowers, lace adorning the collar and the delicate cuffs.

He runs his ring-crested fingers through the golden auburn strands of her hair, his lips curling into a soft smile as Jude sighs in her sleep. Cardan was so engrossed with the transcending mortality of Jude underneath dazzling starlight that he didn't seem to notice the wilted buds nestled in her hair, the crushed roses that laid beside them, nor the curling vines that tangled themselves around her arms. 

Their canopy bed became a speckle of overthrown silks and blossoms that matched the bruised hue of pomegranates. When he stood up, untangling himself from the comforting warmth of his wife, he hastily puts on a lavish fur robe and walks over to the raised windowsill. The crystal cut windows were covered in curling branches, where a few crimson blossoms grew on the rough grooves of the bark. But through the thin slits of the oak branches, he could see the sky, a bleeding thing with a crimson sun, casting rays of scarlet-red light through their crystal cut windows, scattering into their chambers. 

_Is this another curse? An omen from the stars?_

When he returns to Jude's side, she's still blissfully asleep, still draped in the scarlet-red glow of the bleeding sky. Her lips are slightly parted, and he fights back an urge to trace the full curve of her mouth, her heart-shaped face, the crease between her brows. Instead, he merely wills the flowers and the curling vines away, taking a few petals from her hair and casting it aside on the low table beside their bed. He bends down, traces the rounded curve of her ear with his finger, and kissed the delicate skin of her temple. 

"Cardan," she mumbles, and his heart threatens to unravel. 

* * *

**THE BRUGH IS** decorated with a speckled of stars and lit aflame with copper streaks. 

The High King enters with a soft _clack, clack, clack_ of his silver-heeled boots, adoring a thin cape of raven feathers, an embroidered black doublet, and charcoal grey trousers that snake into his boots. A glinting circlet of silver berries is nestled into his crow-feathered curls, and flecks of silver dust coat the high points of his cheeks. The Council rises from their velvet seats as he enters, bowing low and muttering soft greetings. 

He takes his seat at the edge of the table, crossing his legs and leans back. 

"Will the Queen be attending the meeting?" asked Randalin as he shuffles leaflets of paper into an ordered pile beside his cluster of dove quills. 

"I have allowed her to rest for the morning," replied the High King. "However, she will be attending tonight's revel, and I expect the preparations to be finished before then."

"If I may, Your Majesty," piped Lord Baphen from his seat. "I believe it to be wise to cancel tonight's revel." 

The High King lifts a darkened brow. "And why is that?" 

"The stars are bleeding, the sky is crimson, and there are whispers of things that rise in the Crooked Forest. It will be best to host a revel on a later date after we identified the source of the copper streaks." 

"Your Majesty, Lord Baphen is meticulously pessimistic. Yes, the sky had taken on quite a gruesome colour, but the things Lord Baphen has mentioned that's rising in the Crooked Forest is merely the fauna. Things are growing in Elfhame, and if we cancel tonight's revel, diplomatic relations with the lower courts will be affected." 

"But we do not know the reason why things are growing! We need time to be able to dissect the reason for this, and we can not risk the Folk," argued Baphen. 

He feels an ache forming at the crown of his skull, a dull pain that continues to gnaw at his bones. He should have stayed in bed, curled in Jude's warmth, and cancel any meetings he had this morning. 

But he sees the lavender bruises underneath his Queen's eyes, the lilting yawns she tries to cover with her sleeve. Even the way she thrusts her sword is slower. Just three days ago, Cardan had won a trivial fencing match against his ruthless wife, and he had won. Something was amiss. 

So he tries to stay up, completing letters, entertaining guests, speaking to the Folk, anything to ease the weight on his wife's shoulders. And his wife rewards him with a kiss, and the tragedy of her court dress would lead to a passionate dance of their bodies until the sun rises and they have woefully forgotten the rest of the world. 

But sometimes, he is satisfied with only a mere embrace, a soft kiss on his brow, and they would tumble into heavy fistfuls of sleep until the next morning. She would always wake before he did, and he would find her, hours later, and tell her to rest. Only sometimes would she listen. Other times, the stubbornness of her mortality would make her nose wrinkle, her brows furrowed with annoyance, and she'd whisk herself away to the council meeting, ruefully ignoring the slight pout on her husband's lips, the way he lingers too close to her side with the curl of his tail wrapping around her arm. 

That was weeks ago. Cardan, a creature of the night, now rises before his wife, and the High Queen of Elfhame would be wistfully sleeping in their chambers until the stars awaken and she lazily trudges down to the dining hall to eat, converse with any spare revellers if there were any. And during the meetings that were mandatory to attend, she falls asleep to the distaste of the Council, and he would carry her in his arms to their chambers where he softly drops her on their canopy bed, delicately as if she was fragile glass. 

Perhaps a revel underneath blood-soaked stars was what Jude needed. A celebration of the sort. 

"Continue with the preparations for tonight. The revel will continue," the High King declares. 

After a few more arguing amongst the Council, a heavy glare from the High King, they ended the meeting there, and he rises from his velvet chair. Only a guard travels with him now as he changes into simpler clothes, drops another flowering kiss onto the crown of his wife's head, and saddles a glossy-glazed ragwort steed, riding through lush forest fields to an estate by the lake. 

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first ever fanfiction I have ever written for the Folk of the Air trilogy, and I'm like hating it and loving it at the same time. If you have any constructive criticism, don't hesitate to comment and tell me how poorly I'm doing. Kudos are also greatly appreciated! 
> 
> \- Rein.


End file.
